


Fang

by fuzipenguin



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Blood Drinking, Character Turned Into Vampire, First Time, Forced Orgasm, Horror, M/M, Other, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Vampire Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 18:45:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14026416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzipenguin/pseuds/fuzipenguin
Summary: Prowl has turned into a energon-sucking vampire. Jazz has *all* the questions and it gets them in trouble.





	Fang

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr user 'sweetinfluencerenthusiast' prompted: jazz/prowl, fangs (can be NSFW if you want)

              “So… like a vampire?” Jazz asks, looking at Prowl with intrigue. “The blood-sucking things in the humans’ horror films? Except you suck energon?”

              Prowl sighs, not knowing why he had expected Jazz to react any other way than how he is right now. “Yes, Jazz… like a vampire.”

              “Huh.” Jazz looks down for a moment, obviously rolling the idea around in his mind. Then his head shoots up and his visor flares with excitement. Prowl braces himself because Primus only knows what will come out of his best friend’s mouth next.

              “Can I see?”

              Prowl leans back warily. “See… _what_ , exactly?”

              “Your fangs! Are they always there or do you extend them at will?” Jazz demands, scooting forward on his chair so that only his aft perches on the edge. He looks like a sparkling. An overlarge, ridiculous sparkling.

              Fortunately, Prowl likes sparklings. 

              “I can extend them. For feeding.”

              And what a fiasco his first feeding had been. His deteriorating condition had given Ratchet fits trying to diagnose and treat it. Unfortunately, they hadn’t really been able to diagnose it, or treat it, only manage it. And it had taken them quite a while to work out what Prowl needed. Refined energon wouldn’t work. As of yet, Prowl could only survive on the life-fuel straight from the lines of another mech. By the time they had figured it out, Prowl had been insensate with hunger.

             Ratchet had, of course, volunteered himself as a test subject. After satiating his thirst, Prowl had been horrified when faced with the ragged holes he had created in Ratchet’s wrist. The medic had told him not to worry about it but Prowl knew he would feel shame every time he looked at Ratchet from now on.

             “Let me see,” Jazz urges and Prowl sighs again.

             He knows Jazz will not let up until he gets what he wants. So Prowl drops his lower jaw and thinks about how the warm, pulsing fuel from Ratchet’s wrist had tasted. His fangs almost immediately extend as the back of his mouth lubricates.

              “Ooooh…!” Jazz exclaims, impressed. He bends and cranes his neck to look into Prowl’s mouth. “That is so cool, mech.”

              Before Prowl can reply, Jazz reaches out a hand and runs a finger along the right fang, from root to tip. They are sharp enough to pierce armor so it’s no surprise when the tooth nicks the end of Jazz’s digit.

              Prowl jerks away, the bright burst of energon in his mouth making his tanks cramp despite his feeding yesterday. He covers his mouth with one hand and ducks his head, trying to regain composure. He has the intense urge to launch himself at his best friend, sink his denta into an exposed cable and gorge himself, but he refuses.

              He is in control, damn it.

              “Woah,” Jazz comments faintly. “Sharp little things, aren’t they? Hey… you ok?”

              Prowl looks up and Jazz’s optics go wide. “Your optics… they’re… _really_ dark.”

              “They’re… the color change is associated with hunger, Ratchet believes,” Prowl explains, lisping a little. He still hasn’t gotten used to speaking with his fangs extended.

              “You’re hungry? Didn’t Ratchet feed ya?” Jazz asks, seemingly offended on Prowl’s behalf.

              “Yes, of course. But my tanks have mutated; they can hold as much energon as flows through Optimus’ frame. I would have drained Ratchet dry. He’s working on a solution,” Prowl reports, sagging in place.

              “Huh. Well… need a little top off?” Jazz asks, holding out an arm, palm side up. Prowl stares at it for a moment before the offer registers.

              “Are you insane?” Prowl hisses, pushing himself to his feet. “I could hurt you! I’m barely in control of myself!”

              “You’re barely in control cuz you’re hungry. C’mere, I trust ya,” Jazz says reassuringly, wiggling his fingers in invitation.

              “No, I couldn’t,” Prowl replies, shaking his head resolutely. He needs to leave, barricade himself in his room until Ratchet contacts him again. But Prowl can practically hear the energon circulating through Jazz’s frame and it is both reassuring and maddening.

              “Sure ya can. C’mon, Prowler, I know ya want to,” Jazz cajoles.

              Oh, how he does. But maybe Jazz is right. He would be better in control if he wasn’t so hungry. And he was very, very hungry still…

              “I… it would be easier if I didn’t have to go through plating,” Prowl says slowly, gaze tracking up Jazz’s arm to his neck. A small part of Prowl screams at him that he’s giving in too easily, but the thirst silences it with ease.

              Jazz tilts his head to the side, better exposing the large energon line in his neck. “Here?”

              Prowl doesn’t even realize he’s moving until he’s suddenly straddling Jazz’s lap. His sensory wings, normally held under iron control, flutter madly at Prowl’s back, a clear indicator of his eager anticipation.

              “Yes. There,” Prowl answers softly, gaze zeroed in on the fuel line. It pulses softly with each beat of Jazz’s pump, a rhythm that seems to be calling Prowl’s name.

              Jazz tenses in response to Prowl’s sudden movement, but he doesn’t back down. He just scoots backwards until he is more firmly seated on his chair and pats his thighs. “Get comfy, then.”

               He and Prowl have been friends for a long time, and Prowl is well used to Jazz’s tendency to be tactile. He’s had Jazz draped all over him multiple times in the past, but never the opposite. Yet Prowl is unable to care that he’s lowering himself to Jazz’s lap and moving forward until their chests press against one another. Prowl’s bumper fits nearly over Jazz’s and he leans forward, mouth at the perfect height.

                He hesitates as his lips brush the quivering line, spark beating madly. “Are you sure?”

                Jazz’s hands settle at Prowl’s waist and give a little tug. “Yup. I trust you.”

                Prowl’s recently cold frame heats up at the sentiment and he can hold back no longer. His lips bracket the line and his fangs pierce it neatly. There’s none of the frustration of pushing through reinforced plating, only the immediate flood of energon into Prowl’s mouth.

               His optics slip closed as he moans in bliss. It’s like nothing he’s ever consumed, even the finest high grade. Thick and heady and hot, it begins to spread throughout his body. It’s so much better than his first feeding because this time he can actually enjoy it a little, not be overtaken by the driving need he had experienced with Ratchet.

                He hears Jazz gasp by his audial, the hands at his waist spasming once before pulling him closer. Prowl is in full support of that. He squirms, pressing forward so that their armor slides together with a quiet metallic ring.

                “Prowl…” Jazz murmurs, his voice staticky. “Oh, Primus, Prowl… you…”

                Some of the immediate need has abated with the first few swallows, and Prowl slows down the rate of his sucking. The motions become more leisurely and Prowl feels a wave of lassitude wash over him. He feels like he’s floating, warm and safe.

                Jazz’s hands slide around to Prowl’s lower back and they press Prowl’s pelvis down. His interface panel meets Jazz’s, forcing a guttural groan from the mech beneath him.

                “Primus! Prowler!”

                Jazz’s hips snap up, and Prowl absently notes the slide of a hot, leaking spike against his lower abdominal armor. It’s odd… Prowl doesn’t find it unexpected, although he can’t find it in him to react otherwise. His own interface array remains quiescent. The pleasure of the fuel creeping through every inch of his circulatory system is more fulfilling than any other sensation he’s experiencing.

                Prowl continues to feed, lips gently suckling the energon line. Jazz writhes beneath him, thrusting sharply against Prowl’s belly with increasing urgency. Time slows further and further until each passing second feels like a century. Prowl thinks he could stay here forever, warm and enfolded in Jazz’s firm embrace.

                Then a message crosses his HUD, informing him that the frame beneath him is at one third fuel capacity and dropping. Another follow up script asks him if Prowl would like to return fuel and he’s startled out of his haze. He hadn’t seen that script with Ratchet and has absolutely no idea what it means.

                Then the first message registers and Prowl jerks back. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, staring in horror at Jazz’s thrown back head.

                “Oh… oh no,” Prowl murmurs. He hesitantly touches the puncture marks in the energon line. To his surprise, the small holes quickly close within seconds, with no trace of fluids anywhere. “Jazz? Jazz, are you all right?”

                Jazz’s visor is completely dark, his arms hanging limply at his side, but Prowl can feel the steady thrum of Jazz’s spark beneath his chestplate. “Jazz? Please respond to me… Jazz?!”

                “Mmm… ‘m alright,” Jazz mumbles, stirring at last. “… get enough?”

                Surprisingly, Prowl’s tanks register as 95% full and the hunger has subsided to barely a niggling thought at the back of his processor.

                “Yes, thank you. But I took a lot. We should go to MedBay immediately.” Prowl continues to peer at his best friend, seeking more signs of life in Jazz’s face. He would never forgive himself if he harmed the one person in the world who accepted him unconditionally.

                “Yeah… ok. Just give me a sec. I… wasn’t expectin’… that…” Jazz’s hand waves through the air weakly and Prowl watches the motion, confused.

                Then he feels the trickle of liquid seeping down his abdomen and he leans backward and twists to the side to examine himself. Silvery transfluid drips down his plating and Jazz’s spike is still extended between them, twitching erratically.

                “Oh. Oh, _frag_ ,” Prowls says feelingly, despairing a little. Was that to be normal part of the feeding process now that he isn’t on the verge of starvation? He remembers not being surprised by the first feel of Jazz’s spike which indicated that it had been expected but…

                “Take it that didn’t happ’n with Ratch?” Jazz asks, the ghost of a grin appearing on his face.

                “Not at all, no,” Prowl replies, uncertain what do to. Standing up would somehow make it all more real. And he quite likes the platonic relationship he has with Jazz as it is now.

                Or had been.

                “Well… least it doesn’t hurt,” Jazz murmurs, weakly patting Prowl’s side. “Nice side effect.”

                Jazz was always the optimist, Prowl thinks, a little hysterically. Always able to move with the flow. And it seemed like vampire-induced overloading all over Prowl wouldn’t change that.

                Thank Primus for small miracles.

 

~ End


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